


After the Heartbreak

by wiggles247



Category: Hit the Floor (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiggles247/pseuds/wiggles247
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events unfold and feelings are revealed, if not fully realised, after Jude is left reeling by Oscar's rejection. Set around episode 11 of series 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a story I wrote before the start of season 3. Hope you enjoy.................

Jude had no idea how he had got home that afternoon. He knew he had had to park up at the bottom of Oscar’s drive, outside the gates, because he couldn’t see for the tears that were stinging his eyes, but he had absolutely no memory of his drive home at all. And he had no idea how long he’d sat where Zero had found him in front of the sofa, but it must have been hours because it had definitely been light when he’d got in and Zero had had to turn on the light when he came in. And he couldn’t think what he’d done in that time either – although he supposed he hadn’t done much, staring blankly at the wall trying not to hear Oscar’s words repeating in his head and, somehow, managing to keep breathing not really amounting to anything really. ‘You will never have my approval’….’I don’t have a son’ a constant loop in his head and this sick feeling in his stomach, and this pain in his chest and this overwhelming tiredness that meant he didn’t have the energy to move from the spot he’d reached when his legs had given way after he’d got home.

And he had no idea what Zero had thought when he’d come in and seen him, his ‘Jesus Jude!! What the hell are you do…?’ exclamation when he’d spotted him evidence of what a shock it had been to see him there. Quickly replaced by concern which, even Jude in the state he was in, could hear writ large in Zero’s next questions. ‘What’s the matter? Has something happened? Jude – what’s wrong’

And his answer, said automatically, without looking at Zero, ‘My da...Oscar – he knows about us. Well not about us, but about me… me being… that, that I’m, I’m gay, and, and… and he’s disowned me.’ The words, that he’d been desperately trying not to acknowledge, finally spoken out loud. And he still couldn’t look at Zero and didn’t want him too close because he couldn’t bear it – knowing that just one touch would be all that it took to break him.  
And he might have flinched when Zero said ‘Oh Jude’ and started over to him, or else Zero was better at reading people than even he’d thought because he changed course and circled round to perch on the desk. 

‘I went to see him today about…about something’ suddenly remembering that there were things Zero couldn’t know, ‘and he told me that he’d had me checked out because he thinks I could have killed Olivia, and Mrs Dunmeer had told whoever it was he’d hired about you. Well not about you, but about someone, a man and our noisy exploits’ he continued, suddenly desperate to get it out of his head, and feeling the imposed shame again, ‘and he said he’d never approve and then he said he didn’t have a son. ‘I don’t have a son’, that’s how he said it. Just like that, like it was nothing!’ And how empty he’d felt, all over again.

And then when he’d said about reaching out to people and wanting someone to reach back, and Zero had taken out Olivia’s letter, and he’d realised what it meant. And Zero’s attempt to minimise it with his ‘Don’t make a thing of it’. When he knew, they both knew it WAS a thing – that it meant so much more than on the surface it seemed. It was his silver lining in what had up until then just been a very dark cloud, a lifeline thrown to him when he was drowning. And he would cling to it, he knew he would, that, and the unfamiliar sensation that he was actually getting to know the real Zero, that he was finally being let in. The shift in their relationship that Zero opening up to him had caused, very real but not yet realised – he had the feeling that neither of them were fully aware, yet, of the changes it would bring. He couldn’t believe he had never really thought about Zero’s real name before, how he’d never thought it was strange that he didn’t know it. It had never been more than a vague question before, and one that he’d never even really thought of asking. Not to mention all that he hadn’t known about his early life, again something they’d never discussed but more than that something, again, he’d never really thought of asking about. It did explain a lot about how Zero was – his single-minded determination to succeed whatever the cost, whoever it hurt (although, he thought, experiencing the same feeling of salvation he had earlier, not quite totally) and all those walls he put up, the masks he wore. Jude now saw they were his attempts to keep himself safe, to protect himself from the potential disappointment and rejection that letting people in, allowing them to see the real him, would open him up to. This confirmed by what he’d said about #people who should care about you, not doing that and his encouraging him to forget about Oscar (and how he wished he could) because he’d be better off (and maybe he would?).

Then when he’d said about Zero not knowing what he’d done for Oscar, and Zero had got up and crouched in front of him, taking Olivia’s envelope from him and putting it on the table behind them, lifted his head gently up, so that he was looking directly into his eyes and said quietly but with such conviction, ‘He does not deserve you!’ and gently kissed him on his forehead. And something had loosened and he’d smiled, for what felt like the first time that day, and the nauseous feeling in his stomach lessened, and the pain in his chest eased, and he suddenly didn’t feel quite so tired. Just a small smile, but Zero spotted it and seemed to understand what it meant. ‘Come on’ he’d said, standing up and holding out his hand, helping him to get up. And he’d realised how stiff he was as his legs and back complained at the movement, and it must have shown on his face because Zero suggested that he have a shower to help ease everything up and to ‘wash the day away’, concluding ‘It’ll make you feel better,’ and surprisingly it had. The muscular aches and pains washed away, and the more general heart-hurt the day, or more correctly, Oscar, had wrought eased. A process which had continued over the next few hours with Zero proving to be surprisingly sensitive and remarkably caring - conjuring up a meal from the contents of his fridge. His affronted, ‘What! I can cook!’ in response to Jude’s doubtful look and answer about the take-away menus being in the drawer when Zero had asked from the kitchen ‘So what do you want to eat?’ as he’d come out of the bathroom, still raising a smile. And he was right – he could cook. It was only an omelette with some fried potatoes and a side salad, but it was good. And the desert of cookies and ice-cream couldn’t have been better, reminding him, as it did, of his mum and her cure-all for any ache or pain he’d complained of when he was small, not that Zero would have known that. And the rest of the evening had passed by in a generally enjoyable haze of channel hopping, discussions about basketball and good-natured banter about Zero’s culinary skills and Jude’s fashion sense, interspersed with brief, terrible moments when the events of the afternoon would impinge on his consciousness and take his breath away again. But each and every time Zero had quickly, sometimes it seemed even before he had, realised what was going on and had gently brought him back from the edge. 

 

And that was his abiding memory of the night – Zero’s intuitive sensitivity to what was going on for him and his gentleness, even, no especially down to the sex. Although perhaps that wasn’t the right word, maybe, this time for the first time, love-making would be a better description. Because tonight it had felt different – less like Zero just satisfying an urge, fulfilling a need, scratching an itch; more like him giving something of himself, rather than just taking what he needed, what he wanted. And it had always been good, Jude feeling like he was exactly where he should be whenever they were together but knowing that for Zero it was just ‘having a good time’, nothing else and certainly not a relationship, or so he had thought until tonight. And it wasn’t just how it had played out. From its beginnings when Zero had come back from the kitchen with two more beers, looked at him and, instead of giving one to him had put both bottles on the table and holding out his hand had said. ‘Come on, time for bed.’ And seeing the confused expression on his face had continued, ‘You look shattered’. And he’d been about to argue, when he’d realised that it was true, and that, even though it wasn’t even ten o’clock, he felt more like it was the early hours of the morning and that he had been on the go for all that time. So he’d turned off the TV with the remote and taken Zero’s hand and followed him to the bedroom. And the tiredness had once more enveloped him and he’d just sat down at the bottom of the bed and then the pain had caught him again, off-guard and vulnerable, and Oscar’s voice was in his head, and tears filled his eyes and suddenly he was falling. And then Zero was there, reaching out and dragging him up, catching him with a simple ‘Hey, hey, Jude.’ sitting next to him on the bed and turning his head to look at him, before leaning in and kissing him ever so gently. Making everything just a little bit better. And then he’d drawn back, wiping a stray tear from his face before cupping his face in his hands and saying, ‘It will be OK. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it will.’ Before, after the briefest of pauses, continuing, ‘And he really isn’t worth any of your tears, do you hear me? He’s not even a tenth of the man you are and if he can’t see how lucky he should count himself to have you for his son then he must be the stupidest man on the planet. Right!’ And then he’d leant forward so that their foreheads were touching and stayed there for a few moments before saying, ‘right, let’s get you in to bed’ and had knelt in front of him to help him take off his T-shirt and his jogging pants, and then he’d gone to pull back the covers before coming back to him and helping him into the bed. And he’d thought he would go then, assuming he’d think he’d done everything he needed to do, so was surprised when he started to get undressed himself. Watching him moving quietly around his bedroom, feeling so grateful and such a sense of unexpected peace and maybe, despite everything, happiness. And then he’d climbed into the bed, smiling and settling down next to him, encircling him with his arm before reaching out with the other one to turn off the bedside lamp. 

And it was then that he’d said, ‘Don’t,’ continuing, ‘I need to see you’ before he leant in to kiss him. And Zero, who didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, of his vulnerability, tried not to respond. And he sensed Zero’s hesitation, guessed the reason, and was grateful for it, but needed him so very badly that, breaking off from the kiss he said the only word that was in his head, ‘Please!’ And it was enough and when he leant in to kiss him again, Zero responded, and it had begun. 

The kiss deepened, the world retreated then fell away, and the two of them and this moment, each moment, were the only things in the universe that mattered. And his hands were on Zero and then Zero was placing soft butterfly kisses on his neck and he felt himself respond, needing to be joined to him, reaching for him. But instead Zero grasped his hands and brought them up so that they were resting on the pillow, and kissed him again, long and deep, slowing everything down. And he’d felt the urgency pass, the desperate need recede and he’d surrendered to the exquisite torture of it all. To the feeling of Zero’s hand holding his to the pillow, gentle pressure applied then released but always holding, fingers interlocked. To his gentle, persistent kisses, the long, deep ones which he wished would never end and the light, soft ones which he covered his body with. And later to Zero’s hands gently stroking him, and his mouth exploring every part of him, making him feel like he was water running through his fingers. And all the time Zero’s eyes on him, and his on Zero – watching, seeing, gazing at each other as they were joined together in this mystical, magical union. And then, when the colours he’d been seeing, like fireworks dancing, had faded there was just Zero’s arms round him, holding him close; and Zero’s breathing and his heart beating in his chest, a steady, slowing rhythm, grounding him and somehow fixing him in each present moment; and Zero’s hands gently and, he was sure, unthinkingly tracing small circles on his skin. And then there had been nothing as he had surrendered to the oblivion of sleep, lulled into it by Zero – listening to his breathing and feeling his heart beat.

 

Which led him to here, lightly tracing the lines of Zero’s tattoo as the early morning sun filtered through the curtains, and remembering everything that had happened since he’d driven out to Oscar’s yesterday. He’d been amazed to see the sunlight when he’d woken up, he’d thought he wouldn’t sleep well but in fact it was just before six, so not long before he’d normally get up, when he’d first opened his eyes. And he hadn’t wanted to wake Zero so he’d just continued to lie there gently shifting his position every now and then, and wondering whether things would change when Zero did wake up. If they would go back to how things had been – to Zero insisting (perhaps too strongly?) that it was just a good time and him pretending that he was fine with it. Or if something different would emerge because of Oscar’s intervention – and how ironic would that be, he thought, with a small smile. Because it had felt different last night and he was sure Zero had sensed that too. The question was whether he, they, would be brave enough to acknowledge it. Would Zero be able to drop his long-perfected act of indifference, to admit that he actually felt something real? Would he be able to explain what he now needed AND be prepared to walk away from what they had (because it was something even if it was nowhere near enough) if he couldn’t get it? 

And then it suddenly occurred to him that these were questions that couldn’t be answered now, perhaps not even for weeks, and definitely not without Zero. And for the moment there was Zero’s arms round him, and his steady breathing punctuating the silence of the room. And although he knew Oscar’s rejection would hurt him all over again many times, in this moment it was just a dull, distant ache, the real horror of it subdued by Zero’s presence next to him. So he decided to put all the questions, the worries, the trepidation he felt about how things would turn out, to one side and just enjoy these moments. Zero by his side, sun beams playing across his chest and this strange, wonderful feeling that, no matter what anyone else thought, this was how things should be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review if you have a few seconds to spare, and/or kudos if you only have a moment.


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